


Classified

by MajorBenjy



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, Johncroft, M/M, Romance, Some tweaks to Series 3, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorBenjy/pseuds/MajorBenjy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers that Mycroft has been monitoring him for the past ten years, long before he even met Sherlock.</p><p>Based on <a href="http://gatissmark.tumblr.com/post/80049010960/sherlock-au-john-discovers-that-mycroft-has-been">this</a>, with kind permission (and big thanks!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classified

The words came as soon as Mycroft was just a mere step from the threshold of his office.

“These documents date back years before I even met Sherlock. Every single damn thing about me. You had me under surveillance for the past ten years. Why?”

The papers fluttered, demonstrating their own existence and presence in the hands of the man they were not meant to be. They were indeed classified. Mycroft knew that; he ordered them to be so. And they should have been destroyed years ago. The fact that they remained was an inexcusable mistake.

“Dr Watson—”

“Cut the bullshit. Explain _this_.”

Mycroft entered his office, feeling like a stranger in his own domain, and arranged himself unevenly upon the opposite chair. He maintained his composure nevertheless.

“I presume you got the files from Sherlock.”

“He wouldn't tell me anything.”

“I did not set up your first meeting with Sherlock. That, you can be absolutely certain. Your meeting with my brother is as fate as anything, if you so wish to call it that.”

John breathed a sigh of relief, Mycroft noted.

“So, you knew I would meet him.”

“No, I hardly suspect such thing.”

“Then how come you had me watched?”

“I'm curious, Doctor, as to what conclusion you yourself had drawn from it.”

“But I'm asking you.”

“Indulge me. I'm sure my brother had taught you a few things over the years,” said Mycroft. In truth he needed time, time to gather his thoughts, to prepare himself for how to go through with this quite sudden and unexpected turn of events.

“We knew each other,” John started, “some of these things are too personal, but then again, we're dealing with you and possibly MI6, so I'm not surprised if you want to use personal and private information against your target. But, I'm a nobody, so I don't know what use I could possibly be for you lot.”

“You were somebody to someone.”

“And who would that be exactly?”

Mycroft's eyes rested upon his chair and he traced his finger over the leather armrest. “We were here like this once. Engaged in a similar fashion. Do you recall, Dr Watson?”

“It's John. Always been John to you so don't use your formality tactics with me.”

“Then, answer me, _John_.”

“Before Sherlock jumped off the roof of Bart's.”

“Yes. You berated me for betraying my own brother to Moriarty.”

“You lied.”

“We had to do what was necessary to protect you.”

“I'm still very angry about that.”

“Yet, you forgave my brother almost immediately.”

“Because he's Sherlock. I trust him to be a lying bastard. But not you.”

“Why _not_ me? Perhaps Sherlock learnt from the best.”

“I could talk to you about anything, even if we mostly talked about Sherlock, but I talked to you more than anyone. Even after his supposed death, I hated you for it but I still talked to you. I trusted you more than anyone. Because I believed you would do what's right. I believed you trusted me too, well, until you showed that you didn't.”

“I shall restate what we both have just said: I did what I felt was right in the matter of Moriarty; I did it to protect my brother. And to protect you. Such is my reason in regards to these documents as well.”

“So we knew each other.”

“To some extent.”

“To what extent?”

Mycroft could not find the words to continue and allowed silence to take over.

“I would think you and I were a couple,” said John.

“Why is that so?”

“Because you're blushing.”

John smirked, satisfaction played over his expression, and settled back against his chair. “But that would be stretching it a bit, wouldn't it?”

“It is not entirely false.”

John arched his brow with some disbelief. “So you and I were...”

“Indeed.”

“Right,” John shifted in his seat, “then answer me this: why don't I remember any of it?”

“Once again, John, I believe you know the answer to that,” Mycroft prevaricated.

“I bet you know more about it than I do.”

“Before your second tour in Afghanistan, you suffered an injury.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“What was it?”

“Car accident.”

“And I think you know that it is the cause of most of the events in your life you do not remember.”

John sighed. “But I got my memory back, just after a stint in hospital. It's in the file, I recovered.”

“But you never truly did.”

“I remember Harry and Dad. I remember my childhood, I remember growing up. But I don't remember Sherlock. Nor you.”

“I was merely a fragment of your vast past. Sherlock was your friend for a short period of time. We hardly matter.”

“That's not true.”

Silence settled in once more.

“So the accident left me with no memory of neither you nor Sherlock. And you kept tabs on your old lovers.”

“One. Just the one.”

“Right, yeah, because that's normal,” John mocked.

“John, I confess that yes, I have been keeping a watchful eye. I do tend to worry, as you may have observed from my very behaviour towards my brother.”

“But that doesn't explain why Sherlock didn't remember me when we met.”

“Perhaps he did or perhaps he didn't. I asked you once before about what can we deduce about my brother's heart. Or perhaps he had deleted you from his memory.”

“Yeah, clearing up the space for things that really matter.”

“My brother is prone to the dramatics.”

“Always wonder where he got that from,” John mocked. “You didn't answer any of my questions and you're still lying to me. I must have been something to you, if it was just a fling, you wouldn't have kept watching me for ten years.”

“OCD.”

“What?”

“My brother suggested it to you once or twice about my unfortunate condition.”

“Yeah,” John scoffed. “That's it then, is it?”

“Yes, John. That's it.”

John stood, nodded dangerously, his eyes twinkled with derision that only John Watson could pull off, and exited the office without another word.

After the door had closed, Mycroft sat silently for a moment and turned his gaze towards the documents scattered across the table. Everything that had happened to John Watson over the past ten years was condensed into a twenty-seven-page report. He knew what happened, he read the report many times before. He knew about all the clinics and patients, army buddies and colleagues, battles and conflicts, lovers and girlfriends—ten years altogether, eight of those before Sherlock and Baker Street. He knew every single detail. Mycroft gathered up the papers and threw them into the fire. He should have them destroyed long ago. Now, the deed was done and his heart felt like spikes were being welted into it.

He closed his eyes and tried to gather himself; he needed to speak to Sherlock, scold him for his actions, for revealing information he had no right to reveal. His mind was infused with anger and sadness and rage and misery, he could not see anything save for a pair of defying blue eyes. He attempted to clear those images away, but this only made the imagery clearer and more refined.

In his mind, he saw those blue eyes asserting themselves upon the body of a small fair-haired boy with dark brows and a permanent pout...

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something a bit different here and based a fic on a gifset! (Thank you to the original gif-maker!) I hope you will enjoy this and please tell me what you think. Any kind of comments is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)


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